The days after the Sirus Hotel party were quieter at the lodge, the group's usual chaos dialed down as work took over. I buried myself in my tech job, untangling code and spearheading a new project that kept my mind sharp. Still, Alyssa's text lingered like a low hum, daring me to engage. I wasn't sure I wanted to.
Friday evening hit, and I was in my room, skimming emails, when Davies barged in, no knock as usual. "Peter, move it. We're going out," he said, chucking a shirt at me.
I caught it, eyebrow raised. "Didn't we just do this?"
He grinned. "Different vibe. Shaw scored us invites to some ritzy rooftop party. Open bar, live music, rich crowd. You can't pass on this."
I leaned back, unconvinced. "Whose rooftop?"
"Friend of Shaw's cousin or something. Doesn't matter—it's high-end. You in?"
I sighed. I wasn't feeling it, but live music hit a nerve. Back in Nigeria, I'd lived for smoky jazz bars, the kind where the bass sank into your bones. "Fine. But I'm out early."
Davies clapped like he'd won a bet. "That's the spirit!"
An hour later, I was in a sharp black shirt and dark jeans, piling into cars with the crew. Shaw was in peak form, hyping the night like it was his personal masterpiece. A new face joined us—Zara, Greenwood's cousin, freshly arrived in Canada. She was tall, braids tumbling down her back, with a quiet confidence that didn't need to shout. Her eyes caught mine as we loaded up, a brief nod exchanged before I looked away.
The rooftop sat atop a glossy high-rise on the city's edge, the view slamming me as we stepped out: skyscrapers sparkling against the night, their lights dancing on the river below. A band played a smooth blend of jazz and R&B, the saxophone curling through the hum of polished guests. Waiters wove through with champagne and fancy bites. This was worlds away from Sirus's sweaty grind.
Shaw was already schmoozing, charming a cluster of women in shimmering dresses. Davies hit the bar, and Greenwood was deep in talk with Zara, who seemed more into the music than the scene. I grabbed a whiskey and posted up by the railing, the city's pulse steadying me.
"Some view, huh?" a familiar voice cut in.
Alyssa stood there, wine glass in hand, her green dress clinging to her like it was poured on, hair swept to one side, neck bare. My pulse ticked up, but I kept it cool. "Didn't peg you for this scene," I said, sipping my drink.
She stepped closer, smiling. "Shaw's cousin knows my friend. Small world." Her eyes scanned me, deliberate. "You look good, Peter."
I smirked. "You're not half-bad either."
The music filled the pause, her presence electric but restrained. She didn't push, but the tension hummed. I was about to speak when Zara appeared, her calm cutting through the air.
"Peter, right?" she said, voice warm. "Greenwood says you're a music guy. You play?"
I blinked, thrown. "Used to. Guitar, back home. Haven't in years."
Her face lit up. "You've gotta hear this band up close. The guitarist's unreal." She nodded toward the stage, then glanced at Alyssa. "Mind if I borrow him?"
Alyssa's smile was sharp, playful. "He's all yours. For now."
Zara led me to the stage, her stride easy. The band was fire—drums tight, guitarist ripping a solo that made my hands ache for a fretboard. Zara leaned in, pointing out the chord work, and I loosened up, trading music nerd talk like it was old times. She knew her stuff, her vibe matching mine.
"You're not what I thought," she said later, studying me.
I grinned. "What'd you think?"
She shrugged. "Greenwood called you quiet. But there's more to you."
The band slid into a slow, sultry track, couples swaying under the lights. Zara tilted her head. "Dance?"
I froze. Dancing wasn't my thing, not since Nigeria. But her ease felt safe, no strings attached. I set my drink down and took her hand.
We moved together, her body close but not clingy, hands light on my shoulders. She smelled of vanilla and something warm, earthy. I caught Alyssa watching from across the roof, her face unreadable. Shaw was nearby, wrapped up in his Sirus woman, their heat practically visible.
"You're overthinking," Zara said, pulling me back.
I laughed. "Caught me."
Her smile was soft. "Just be here."
I let go, the music and her presence grounding me. No past, no pressure—just the moment. When the song ended, her hand lingered in mine.
"Thanks," she said. "I needed that."
"Same," I admitted.
The night blurred on. Shaw vanished with his woman, their laughter fading into a private corner. Davies worked his charm on a server. Alyssa circled back, her teasing softer now, like she'd clocked something new in me.
"You're a puzzle, Peter," she said, voice low. "Dancing with Zara, brushing me off again… untouchable, aren't you?"
I met her gaze. "Just selective."
She laughed, genuine this time. "Noted. But I'm persistent."
She drifted off, and I felt Zara's glance from across the roof, curious and warm, while she talked to Greenwood. My phone buzzed—Alyssa: Round three, Peter? Too much fun.
I pocketed it, no reply. The night air was crisp, the music still alive in me. I wasn't running or chasing—just present. It felt new.
In the car later, Shaw's voice broke through. "Peter, you're slipping! Two women all over you, and you're still a saint?"
Laughter erupted, but Zara, beside me, spoke low. "Lay off, Shaw. Some things are worth the wait."
I glanced at her, her face half-glow in the streetlight. She said nothing more, but her words stuck, heavy with possibility.
Back at the lodge, I lay awake, the city's hum faint. Alyssa's spark and Zara's calm tugged at me, two roads I hadn't planned on. I didn't know where I was headed, but for once, I wanted to find out.